


take it home and tie it down

by WolfSpider



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, F/M, Impregnation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Post-Canon, Scent Marking, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 14:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18345956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfSpider/pseuds/WolfSpider
Summary: After everything is said and done, Vanya decides to go off her pills permanently. All of them. Five helps with the side effects.





	take it home and tie it down

**Author's Note:**

> Another umbrellakink prompt: "Vanya is going into heat and Five fucks her through it. I want sloppy, messy sex between the two of them, with Five's alpha instincts taking over and making him desperate to breed his beautiful sister. Preferably w/ established relationship beforehand, but maybe this is their first heat together. Would love for multiple orgasms for both parties, along with Five having a knotted dick that Vanya loves being stuffed full of."
> 
> Does exactly what it says on the tin. Thanks for the food, anon.

There were always two kinds of pills.

One came from the bored, overworked hospital psychiatrist who had seen her for fifteen minutes once every three months in a sterile office with too-harsh lighting and stiff-backed chairs, made her check off the same forms with the same boxes ( _Have you had trouble staying asleep? Worrying too much, or about too many different things? Thoughts that you would be better off dead? Rate how this has affected your functionality on a scale from one to five_ ) before scribbling off a script for another three refills of the same mysterious capsules she’d been pounding twice a day since she was four. The other came from a family-practice medical doctor who twice a year would check her blood pressure, shine a penlight into the backs of her eyes, run tests monitoring bone density and hormone levels, and then print her off a sheet of the same hospital jargon-laden safety information.

The papers were filled with phrases like “prolonged use of pheromone suppressants can lead to serious side effects, including heart disease, defects in bone mineralization, and unknown effects on brain development.” Vanya had read every side effect the drug manufacturers were required by law to publish online, which seemed to include the whole gamut of plausible reactions from dizziness and dry mouth to cranial orbital bleeding and fever sweats, and spent two rainy afternoons definitely worrying at a level her psychiatrist would have classified as “too much” before ultimately succumbing to alarm fatigue, popping the _other_ pills, and deciding to forget all about it. Life was easier, anyway, without having to worry-- about anything, at all.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of having an omega nature, whatever that would really practically mean to someone who had medically suppressed it the entire time. That part fit just fine into her worldview and her view of herself, actually; of course almost all of her special, talented siblings had presented one by one as alphas, and of course Vanya had turned out to be their opposite. But as their father had said, sternly whisking her into his office by the elbow on the day she’d felt the bottom drop out of the pit of her stomach, skin and body alive with warmth, it would be better for everyone if she kept it to herself. Her brothers had vital work to do, and they didn’t need to be _distracted_.

And neither did Vanya, really. It seemed awfully inconvenient to live as either an alpha or omega, caught up in the whims of chemical scents whenever the wind changed, human mind caged in an animal body, especially when you were stumbling through life awkward and half-formed and ordinary, without a mate. Even after she’d left and moved on, she kept seeing the doctor, kept getting her weight measured and her vitals carefully monitored for adverse effects, kept taking the pills, continuously, even though it said right on the label that for safety’s sake an omega should regularly schedule one heat per year. Those pills, at least, Leonard hadn’t seen a need in his scheme to lose.

A lot of things had gone on, though, abruptly and all at once, and Vanya decided that she was tired of pills. She was done with them. She wanted to know herself, wanted to know what she was like when _she_ got to choose what she was going to be-- so after all the embarrassing business with the blood on her hands and in her mouth, the music singing through her like an old car engine ready to shake itself apart on a cold morning, the moon in pieces, Luther’s strong arms holding her, after it was all over and done and felt like someone else’s bad dream half-remembered, Vanya stopped. Just to see what else would happen.

Which at first was nothing. The bitter blue suppressant tablets built up in tissue and fat and bone and created a temporary kind of hormonal inertia, kept her stuck in her state of arrested development for several days as without a renewed supply the chemicals began to flush from her body only slowly, and when she started to notice things, it was gradual. Light seemed brighter. Her skin seemed more sensitive, like she’d been living her life with hands encased in a pair of heavy mittens, their insulating layer of pressure stripped away. Food tasted better, probably because her sense of smell sharpened, suddenly keenly aware of the scents of other omegas and the occasional alpha businessman on the evening train. It was like being Dorothy in _The Wizard of Oz_ , a little, like stepping out blinking into a world of color after living your life in pale black and white-- so much depth she’d never realized was out there, gated off from her.

There had been three months of that, exploring herself, and concurrently, exploring Five. That was a sort of perverse and teenage way of thinking of it; made her feel like she was just getting to know his body as it changed into someone she had no reference for instead of relearning the person he’d become in their time apart. They’d agreed, once the moon dust had settled, to take things slowly, because they both had hearts that had hardened, callused protectively against further pain, private and mistrustful.

“I missed you,” Vanya had said, curled up with him in a dark and warm and timeless place, while they worked it out. Jumping them all had put a strain on him; his face was wan and thin and older, time dilation stretching him physically into a middle-teenager. Handsome, she’d thought, the way she’d always privately suspected he would be; he’d seemed beautiful enough when they’d both been thirteen, sort of fey and young and delicate but already becoming something more. And Five at fifty-eight, in the body of a sixteen year old, divorced on bad terms with time, held her clammy, cold, white-pale hand and stared without fear into the mirrors of her eyes and rubbed their cheeks together, scratching the sensitive place at the back of the corner of his jaw against her neck, layering his scent over hers.

As a gesture, then, with her own nose still dampened and her scent glands all but vestigial, it was meaningful only as a reflection of what it meant for him, but it still quieted some of the hoarse, vicious screaming in the back of Vanya’s mind. “I should have been there to keep you safe,” he’d said, and even if a part of him had really meant _keep everyone safe from you_ , his duty as her alpha, it was all she’d ever wanted-- from him, from a brother, from a mate.

So that was alright.

\---

Three weeks after she broke the last suppressant tab in half and downed it, a new sensation started up. It was like an itch under her skin that broke out into an ache, an incipient full-body sneeze, suspended in that moment of tension between urge and release. Vanya woke up at three in the morning in a damp sweat, grubby sleep shirt clinging under her arms and at the middle of her back, completely awake and keyed up out of nowhere, and she tossed violently under the sheets until dawn broke, listening to distant sirens and just wanting the heavy warm pressure of another living body on top of her, holding her down and squeezing the breath from her lungs like a human thundershirt.

The real fever rolled over her later, a wave of blistering uncomfortable internal summer heat that had her in the orchestra hall bathroom as often as she could manage between movements at practice, splashing water on her face and trying not to notice how blotchily flushed and deranged she looked in the mirror, hair coming untucked from her hasty ponytail and falling in sweaty clumps in her face. It was less like the kind of warmth she would have imagined from a heat, something sultry and humid and lush, and more like a post-menopausal hot flash, the result of messing with a natural cycle; and it wasn’t sexy at all, didn’t even feel sexual at first. Her body was in revolt, telling her brain that it wanted something, some base stimulus, but she didn’t know what. The subtle sugary smell of the peanut butter (no marshmallow) sandwich she’d packed herself for lunch rolled her stomach, made her nauseous just looking at it.

_I am an adult,_ she thought. _I am in control of myself. I can do this._

Immediately after practice, she took the subway (a cab, while more direct, would have felt too intimate) to the Hargreeves house, and went to find Five.

The manor was mostly empty and dark, which suited her; she couldn’t imagine trying to explain this to Diego or Luther or even Allison, who had always been perfectly poised and at home in her body and knew the secrets of manipulating her nature. But Five had always understood her even when she didn’t understand herself, and she was relieved to locate him in his childhood room, bent over the desk and a ream of gridded graph paper that he was filling with integers and variables and equations. The door was cracked invitingly open and she saw his head jerk up before she even managed to knock, turning to look at her with his full lips slightly parted, a tension in his jaw that went down into his neck.

She knew the feeling. His room was his den, and the scent of him, young alpha growing into his prime again, rolled out into the hallway through the cracked door, something heady and musky and sharp underneath that scraped the roof of her mouth raw. It flipped a final switch in her hindbrain and there was the arousal, crashing down on her all at once: knees weak and shaking, all the warmth pooled down to settle heavy in her belly and lower, a flood of slick making her embarrassingly wet where it was already seeping through her jeans, getting her ready for his cock.

“Hey,” she said softly, holding on to the door frame until she thought it would splinter, sure she would fall over without it. Five was already rising from his chair, flushed in response with pupils blown black, and the scent of him deepened, rushed over her like riptide. He hadn’t aged into much height, was still only half a foot taller than her, but he still seemed imposing coming towards her, loosening his tie with steady fingers so it wouldn’t catch on his adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly. “Are you busy?”

“I’ve never been less busy in my life,” Five growled, rumbling deep in the back of his throat. He took two steps and closed the rest of the distance with an impatient jump, depositing himself so close that she could feel his breath hot against her face with absurd suddenness. Five had always had the most useful power. “Vanya-- your pills--”

“We talked about this, remember?” she reminded him as he pushed his face into the crook of her neck again, mouth open, taking deep wheezing breaths of her. Relieved, she brought her arms up around his chest and held onto him instead, trusting him, as she had forced herself to, to stay strong and close for her. She could feel him shudder as he mouthed wetly down the side of her neck, snuffling into her shoulder, lips followed by teeth that gnawed curious and proprietary at a soft place that had ached under the skin recently, that she now recognized as another long-dormant scent gland. It was getting harder to string together words into anything approaching a coherent thought, her mind filled up with song and color and the shape of her need. “I’m ready. I want to know what it’s like.”

She felt him freeze a second, shoulders stiff under her grasping fingers, and he nuzzled down harder, breath coming harsh. “I don’t know either,” he said, frankly, voice pounded flat and neutral with the strain of restraint. “Had a few ruts when I was stranded, but the living conditions there were obviously. Bad. Put a lot of strain on my body, things just shut down.”

Vanya stroked the space between his shoulder blades and waited for him to finish his thought. “...And Dolores was a beta,” he added.

“Ah,” Vanya said. She turned her head to kiss his temple, squeezed him tighter. “Well, I’m not.”

“I know.” His arms circled tight around her waist, crushing her up against his chest and squeezing a soft, surprised moue of pleased wanting out of her. Five nipped at the shell of her ear and Vanya realized she was rocking her hips into his, pushing against him rhythmically, instinctively, without any conscious drive to; she could feel him getting hard against the inside of her thigh, responding to her in a way that made her feel powerful and out of control all at once. “You smell so fucking good,” he snarled, “but it’ll be even better when you smell like _me_.”

She cried out, and he jumped them. There was a bright solar flare flash of spacetime bending and then she was tumbled on his bed, underneath him, still wound up in each other; now his thigh was between her thighs, encouraging to grind on him through their slacks, and the rough material of her jeans and her soaked underwear pulled at her with each small, shaky judder of her hips. Five pushed himself up off of her, making a sound like he’d been stabbed in the stomach at the loss of points of contact, and he tore at the noose of his tie, his fine smart button-down shirt. “Five,” she called up to him, and he didn’t stop, slowed his frantic movements only barely. “You’re mine, right?”

That made him pause, and the corner of his lip pulled up to show off a flash of fang, the same way his face would twitch when he was getting tired of being the smartest person in the room: _don’t be stupid_. “Yours,” he agreed, popping the collar of his shirt open to show that his flush had spread down past the line of his clavicle as well, warm skin sheened with sweat. “Of course, always. I know what this means.”

Vanya reached up to grab his wrists, guiding his hands away from himself and to her chest through rumpled flannel that felt extra unseasonable now. “Then show me what you want. What you wanted, when you were alone.”

One of the ways that Five had changed, Vanya had observed since his reappearance, was that under the layer of polish he preferred, nice clothes, slicked back hair, there was a wild list to his stance; Five had grown up feral, and he was feral still, an animal poured into a three piece suit. You could hear it in his voice sometimes, a lilt always on the edge of snapping; a cadence to his words, the words he _chose_ , harsh and blunt and unforgiving, straight to the point, the softer edges sanded off his socialization. He never put his back to open doors. He hoarded food and pretended he wasn’t doing it, filling his pockets with hard candies and beef jerky and things that would stay preserved. He talked to himself incessantly, under his breath.

He was easy to provoke.

“I want to fuck you,” he said, not bothering to dress it up at all. Five cut straight down to the bone in all things, and it dragged a shiver through her; that hard-edged attention was so much different from the vague directionless interest she’d received from her few previous partners. He was tearing at her shirt instead, now, getting fed up with buttons and helping her ruck it off over her head before putting his hands back on her, squeezing greedily at her breasts to feel the weight of them in his palms and rolling the pads of his thumbs across her aching hard nipples through the cups of her bra. What she needed was the primal affirmation of his skin against her skin, and she allowed herself a choked-off moan to encourage him. “I’ve been thinking about it for forty years. So _fucking_ unfair-- your scent got inside of me when we were young, I couldn’t forget it.”

Everything from those days was hazy, but Vanya remembered it a little; the slow simmer in her stomach, skin feeling too tight just like this. They’d been sitting in the front room on a Saturday between noon and twelve-thirty, Five and Vanya together as they’d always been as often as they were allowed, and he’d reached out to show her something, brushed his fingers careless against the back of her hand-- and that small touch had sent a shower of white-hot sparks skittering over her skin, and she’d known. Something inside of her recognized him, opened up for him, and the space she’d made inside of her for Five had stayed empty all the while that their father was drugging her and Five was gone and a succession of shabby failed boyfriends had had their hands where his were now. That same sense told her that she was, finally, right where she was meant to be, tucked tight under him, and she spread her legs wider for him, wanting it.

She licked her lips. “I bet,” she started, trying to find the right tone to tease him, “you just wanted to stick your knot in something. Repopulate the human race.”

Five laughed, a short and barking sound, and he flicked the tab of her jeans open, helped her lift her hips and roll them down. Having his eyes on her was flaying her apart, conscious of him watching the way her smooth stomach quivered. His hands settled on her thighs, slick and shiny and sticky already, and held her open while he just looked, and then he used his thumbs to spread open her swollen cunt. There wasn’t any room left in her for embarrassment, just need, and an emptiness that overrode everything else. “The apocalypse isn’t why I want you,” he said, and Vanya clenched tight around nothing, trying to buck up against him even as his strong, sure hands held her hips down. “I’m going to fuck you pregnant, and it’s not going to have a god damned thing to do with that.”

He dropped himself on top of her and she pulled him close again to be kissed; immediately his hand was cupping her cheek and the corner of her jaw, stroking over her cheekbone as his tongue filled her mouth. He kissed like a feral animal, too, all teeth tearing at her lips, and it only made her rake angry red lines down his back, scrabbling for purchase against him. “Please,” she was breathing between kisses, whenever he paused to nuzzle at her neck. “Please, please, _please_ , Five, I waited so long for you--”

“So fucking wet,” he rumbled, approvingly, settling himself between her legs. “Such a good girl for me, Vanya.”

Vanya groaned wordlessly, desperate, and hitched her leg up over his thinner hip, encouraging. She’d been so good. She’d gone off all her pills almost four months ago, and she’d barely wanted to cause any apocalypses at all. What had it been for, if not for this? She crushed her hands into his hair, mussing it until she was satisfied, and dredged up the old, dangerous fire. ‘Omega’ didn’t need to mean submission; she could make demands of him too. “I’m done waiting,” she told him, and she bit his lip hard enough to bleed.

And then, obediently, he was pushing into her, and she couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t feel anything but his cock, thicker than she might have expected. She was so wet that there was almost no friction, just the smooth glide of him thrusting up into her belly, but she was still tight, and smaller than him, and it still burned a little in a way that let her know she was still alive. The second he was inside her whatever flimsy pretense of civility Five maintained to get through daily life snapped and melted away, left only something snarling and animal on top of her, all teeth and tongue and grasping paws. His hands found hers and threaded their fingers together, reaching up to spread her out for him, wrists pinned up above her head. The alpha scent was pouring off of him, filling her lungs, making her head spin and her cunt tighten down on him like she was trying to hold him inside of her, for all that she needed the motion, the sawing of his hips, winding her up until her voice broke and she cried out for him.

Orgasm wasn’t enough. Her body knew what that felt like, compelled by her own hands or another man’s inept thrusting; every new hormone burning in her blood sang out that it wouldn’t be satisfied until his knot was in her, stuffing her full, plugging her up snug and tight. Until he’d made her his mate, in the most real and primal way. There was no relief, only a new tinge to the desperation, and she still felt empty even with him thrusting into her hard enough to make the bedframe rattle against the wall.

She could feel him slowing, the muscles in his arms and sides shaking as he held himself up above her, the rhythm of his thrusts unraveling into short staccato bursts, and she stroked the short sweat-matted hair at the back of his neck fondly. “Please, Five,” she whispered again, almost whimpered, and he sobbed and tucked his forehead up against the ball of her shoulder and held himself still, as deep as he could, fisting his hands in the sheets hard enough to tear the fabric as his cock jerked, pumping his heavy load into her, splattered right up against her womb.

When Vanya felt his knot begin to swell in her, splitting her apart, breeding her, she came a second time and screamed loud enough that every window on the third floor shattered.

It still wasn’t enough, but she let herself be boneless and limp for a while as Five slowly came back to himself and rearranged her in his arms, on the bed, in a tangle of limbs and damp soaked sheets. He slotted himself up behind her, still with the comfort of his knot firmly stuck and holding her open, and pressed his nose into the back of her neck. His hands wandered, absently petting her, from the swell of her breasts to the flare of her hip, fingers playing between their thighs where they were joined, but his hands kept coming back in fascination to her full stomach, stroking and pushing and pressing down until she could feel his cum leaking out of her, forced out around the tight seal of his knot.

“You’re going to be full of me for _months_ ,” he growled, pleased, and Vanya made a soft and equally pleased hum back at him, trying to stop the urge to squirm and twist her hips for more friction. Every so often she would push back at him, futilely trying to feel him even deeper.

“For the rest of the week, for sure,” she said, tipping her head back to be kissed, and he obliged, slow and languid.

The bedroom, soft safe mating den as it was, was boring, Five decided when his knot had gone down enough that he could pop it back out of her. Vanya hated that; there was something primal and good about feeling the rest of his cum and hers pour out, feeling herself gaping open and empty and waiting for his cock, but mostly she just wanted to feel him again. “Hold on,” he suggested, wrapped up in her, and then they were falling through space again, two floors down.

He held her tight and safe in his arms, her legs hooked around his waist, and backed her up against the hard edge of their father’s rich mahogany desk, bracing her there until she let herself fall backwards over the piles of papers still undisturbed, listening and feeling it as each hard thrust rattled decades of accumulated curios and paperweights around on its surface and in its drawers, and she laughed imagining the monocle popping out of the old man’s eye socket in comical shock if he could see what his children had done, without shame, all over his office.

He spread her out on the plush couch before the fireplace in the living room, under the watchful glass eyes of beheaded ibex and impala and his own childhood portrait, filling the open empty halls with her needy, breathy cries as he bottomed out in her again and again, the tight plane of his stomach grinding up against her oversensitive clit until she could feel their cum leaking out around him, messy and sloppy, leaving a stain on the upholstery.

He pressed her face down into the simple dining table in the underground kitchen, the rough wood scraping against her cheek and her swollen nipples, and she scratched desperately at its surface until splinters caught under her bitten nails, keening a litany of _don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop_ all the while, caught up in the obscene wet sound of his hips impacting against her ass and their thighs coming together with every stroke.

A flurry of new locations: foyer, hallway, bathroom with her back pressed to cold slick tile that temporarily soothed her fever, growling at her all the while that she was his and everyone would know, that he wanted their siblings to scent them together in every room of that godforsaken house and be sure of his claim. Vanya barely registered any of it, conscious only of his cock buried deep in her and his nails where they dug into the skin of her hips for purchase and his voice keeping her present, tethered to him.

Then finally they were finished, and back in bed, and all the tension had run right out of her; finally she just felt tired and sweaty and messy and content. Like she needed a shower, and also like moving from Five’s bed and Five’s arms was the worst idea anyone had ever had, and the hoarse, vicious screaming in the back of her head, the voice that had grown louder in confinement but had never really been silent, was quiet and still.

In the darkness, Vanya said, “I forgive you.”

And it was enough, for just then.

\---

Early enough in the morning that it was still twilight-dark, Vanya slipped out of Five’s sleep-heavy embrace and pulled on his torn, discarded shirt, letting it hang open and too large on her as she tried to make her weak legs take her weight and remember how to walk. Quiet, wanting to let him rest for when inevitably later the insatiable burn of heat would start up again, she stumbled drunkenly towards the cracked open door.

The hall light was on. Someone had discretely left a silver tray with a sweating pitcher of lemonade, the ice having mostly melted into a misty haze on top, and a selection of home baked chocolate chip cookies. There was a folded note in Grace’s precise, mechanical handwriting: _Don’t forget to stay hydrated, kids!_

Vanya shut the door and went back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

>  _why kill a wild thing/when you can take it home and tie it down?_  
>  \--Danabelle Gutierrez


End file.
